


Photography, a Portrait, and the Question of Immortality

by Diary



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bechdel Test Fail, Bittersweet, Bottle Episode Fic, Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 11:56:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11058453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: A look at Otto and the Times through the centuries. Complete.





	Photography, a Portrait, and the Question of Immortality

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Discworld.

In Ankh-Morpork, there was an old photograph protected by glass and framed in steel hanging in the main office of the Times.

It’s in colour, but the colours are dull and faded, and it’s obviously the product of an imp painting a black-and-white image after rather than a camera capturing in colour. Underneath is a gold plague explaining who the occupants are: Founder William de Worde (left), his wife and Senior Editor Sacharissa Cripslock (right), Head of Security Rocky (below), Co-founder Gunilla Goodmountain (left shoulder), and his spouse Co-founder Boddony (right shoulder).

Most in the Ankh-Morpork office like Otto von Chriek, and it’s rare for the ones who don’t to stay employed there or at any other branch of the Times for long. He’s cheerful, attentive, always eager both to learn new things and to teach, and tenacious about protecting both sources and employees who end up being targeted by the legal system in the course of doing their job. However, he tolerates no tabloid news, and if a mistake is made, no matter how minor or how embarrassing printing a retraction and an apology would be, a retraction and an apology _will_ be printed and published as soon as possible.

There are other cherished pictures in the archives, and some of the younger employees will sit with him and ask him about them. Some do it out of flattery, some out of genuine curiosity and interest, and some simply feel sorry for him, because, for all his jovial gregariousness, there are times he’ll lock himself in the basement for days or leave for weeks at a time.

No one minds when he does either[1], but some do worry for him.

Among the pictures are many of other dwarves, and he can talk for hours about each of them. There’s a few pictures of other vampires and some sketches of the ones who came before it was possible to safely photograph vampires, and besides all but one, he speaks fondly but dismissively of them; he neither knows nor cares what became of them after they left. There’s a picture of a hobo and a mangy dog he can spin seemingly endless amusing tales about.

Pictures of various police officers and postal workers have been taken over the years, but there’s a picture of a group of Night Watch members and one of the postal staff from the reopening of one of the old post offices he is particularly fond of. Both were taken either in the end stages of the Century of the Fruitbat or at the start of the Century of the Anchovy[2].

There used to be playable moving pictures of William de Worde and the others, but the technology has become too incompatible for them to play anymore. Now, these moving pictures are safely stored away out of Otto’s continuing hope he can maintain them long enough for technology to one day make them compatible again.

Some of the realistic employees are concerned not for their futures but for the day when the Times finally does fall. It’s lasted for hundreds of years, and hopefully, will last for many more, but eventually, all businesses are dissolved, rebranded, or merged with another. New business taking their lead often spring up, of course, but- someday, the Times that Otto loves, believes wholeheartedly in, and has put his blood, sweat, and tears into, the Times those he loved who did likewise, will be gone.

These concerns are put to rest one day when Otto is tinkering with one of his old cameras in the basement. It flashes, he turns to dust, and he doesn’t turn back.

At first, they assume the vial of blood around his neck was simply too old or tainted, and one of the interns nips around the corner to a nearby butcher shop to get a small cup of blood.

When this doesn’t work, however, they contact the police, and the police bring in a vampire who occasionally consults for them.

“Sometimes, vampires just stop rising,” the vampire tells them. “Even we don’t know why or if they’ll ever be able to again once they stop. I’m sorry for your loss, ladies and gentleman.”

Most don’t want to accept this, at first, and some even go as far as dripping a small amount of their own blood on the ashes.

Eventually, funeral arrangements are made, and the editor-in-chief wonders whether the framed photograph should be placed in Otto’s crypt or stay in the main office.

After several long discussions, it’s decided the photograph will stay where it is.

The rest of his personal pictures are gone through, and it’s decided which ones will stay in the archives and which will be placed in the crypt.

During the sorting, a portrait none of them have ever seen before is discovered. The fading is minimal, and a few mistake it for a photograph at first glance.

Otto had told them about a young sketch artist with a combined talent for painting the Times had once hired. She’d gone on to work for the police and sadly died when she was only sixty-three. Despite their mutual respect for one another’s talents, she’d had reservations about photography, and he found her somewhat immature and many of her views regressive.

The employees suppose the portrait shouldn’t surprise them.

After all, there is precisely one picture of the young sketch artist, and he always said getting it had required great sacrifice and unpleasantness on his part.

Now, in Ankh-Morpork, there’s an old photograph protected by glass and framed in steel hanging in the main office of the Times next to a portrait likewise protected by glass with a gold plague underneath reading: Senior Photographer Otto von Chriek.

 

[1] The basement hasn’t been used for developing photographs in years, and there are always plenty of photographers on staff that, if he never took another picture for the paper, there would be no loss or dip in quality.

[2] The one of the Night Watch was taken three years into the Century of the Anchovy, and the one of the postal staff was taken during the last year of the Century of the Fruitbat, but everyone quickly learns that Otto often blends the two centuries together and is uninterested in separating events from the two.


End file.
